


show me the foothold from which i can climb

by mother_hearted



Series: you count up all my scars (crumble them into stars) [28]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Healing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29941659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_hearted/pseuds/mother_hearted
Summary: In the aftermath of war, Dimitri struggles to build peace in Fodlan when he cannot find peace within himself. His mind locked away in an age old winter and desperate for the grace and warmth of spring, he somehow makes his way to Leicester on an unconventional sabbatical. While learning how best to serve his people and avoid the pitfalls of the past, Dimitri stumbles through his grief... and into Claude's arms.Claude's departure to Almyra is already in the books, eager to put his experiences from Fodlan to good use. It's all going to plan except there's one variable he didn't account for: Dimitri, earnest and proud, infiltrating his heart... and making Claude question if he can truly leave him behind when the time comes.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: you count up all my scars (crumble them into stars) [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692022
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18
Collections: Dimiclaude Big Bang 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [overplays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/overplays/gifts).



> For Dimiclaude Big Bang 2020! I can't believe it's here... This is the story that has been on my mind since I first fell for the ship. The story I first created with my friend Tori, who I'm always making pure cinema with (and hope to never stop). All the stories posted on AO3 from this universe have always come _after_ they were married, after the bumps and hiccups. And today I'm so happy to share those questions and doubts, and all the joy and wonder in getting to know someone... all while getting to know yourself. I wanted to write a story about the clumsy, often graceless process that healing can be. All my little headcanons, all the little conversations I love to dream about. The way I first envisioned Dimitri and Claude and how they could fall in love. 
> 
> I've never been able to write a longform fic and stick with it before. I've learned a lot and gotten to work with such wonderful people all throughout the process. [Alissa](https://twitter.com/Sallataire) and [Audo](https://twitter.com/audomattic) are the best team I could have asked for, bringing my story to life and making it feels like ours, too. I had my own stumbles while writing this and there were days I cried, thinking I'd made a mistake - taking on a project so big. But new things are challenging and I came out the other side just as in love as I started. Love letters don't have to be polished, they just have to come from the heart. 
> 
> So here's my love letter to this ship! And the end of my sappy intro, haha. All chapters going forward will have their own content notes, but for now, let's start with the prologue.

“He really is giving up his family’s throne.” 

“Are you surprised? He put off his crowning ceremony for months, giving Gustave a huge run around every time he asked.”

“I know, but…” Ingrid adjusted her hold on her lance. Just out of the corner of her right eye she could see Felix running through his drills, his blade glinting under the bright light of the sun, creating the illusion of sparks when he made contact with his training dummy. Despite standing in the empty training grounds, Ingrid felt the world closing in around her. 

Sylvain, who stood four feet away from her, sword tucked into his scabbard, raised his hands while he shrugged. He wore the look of a parent waiting a decade to tell his children some terrible news. Tired, but relieved to no longer keep it to himself.

“He hasn’t wanted to be king for a long time. Don’t pretend you didn’t know. Think about the guy we found hunting down bandits, even the guy after we crossed Myrddin’s bridge. Even when we were in school, he never said he wanted to, only he had to get on the throne.”

“How do you know he didn’t want to then?” 

Sylvain’s mouth quirked up in one of its corners. “Honestly, I don’t. That’s what he said, and it’s really only an observation in hindsight. He stopped being easy to read after Lambert died.”

And Glenn, Ingrid thought. And all the fire and smoke that poisoned his lungs and maybe his brain. Sylvain was content to give her time to compose her thoughts, turning back to watch Felix but Ingrid suspected he didn’t really see him. Was the same as her, walking through the past that led them here. 

Ingrid saw herself back in her father’s stables. Saddled, not unlike her horse, with her father’s demands. Keep her hair long. Write often, with the names of boys tied to good families, so he might contact their fathers. Think of her friends as potential suitors, should the opportunity arise. 

How unseemly, she thought then and still did now. 

They were always going to be her brothers. Ill tempered. Foul mouthed. Incredible pains in her ass. Her support in a five year long nightmare where not even a knight’s radiance could pierce through the darkness on its own. They grew strong together… but it didn’t mean they hadn’t been crippled as well. 

All of their choices led them to this moment.

“He never would have had this chance if his father was still alive.”

Sylvain wasn’t looking at her or Felix when he answered. “Probably not. He doesn’t have your guts, Ingrid.” He snorted. “Neither do I.”

Up until this point, no one had praised Ingrid for becoming estranged from her father. It made it easy to hear the bitterness leaking out of Sylvain, as bitter as tea leaves steeped too long.

“You could leave his house,” she said. All she owned now was a trunk of belongings, her dear Pegasus, and the lance in her hand. The back of her neck was bare. The callouses on her soles deadened sensation in her feet. Her path and Dimitri’s path would not be the same. He was royalty but still… he had an opportunity. It came at a heavy price but it was there.

“No,” Sylvain said. “I really can’t.”

“I told you not to wait for me.”

Felix approached, sweat shining on his brow. Wisps of hair his bun couldn’t catch stuck to his temples. His scowl was a deep dark cut on his face. 

“Harsh. We haven’t been together in weeks!”

Felix ignored Sylvain's complaint. “Were you still talking about the boar?”

Felix had refused to say anything when the news broke out this morning. Ingrid shifted her lance to her other hand. “We’re wondering what Dimitri intends to do. Even if he doesn’t succeed his father, he is still running the Kingdom.”

No sooner did she say his name, did Felix turn his back. He waited for her to finish but just barely. “That mad dog isn’t going anywhere. You hear how he howls at night, locked up in his room. No one else would take him.”

“Felix!”

“Am I wrong? He whirled around, tension lining his brow, premature wrinkles setting in. “He may be loved for driving out Imperial forces but half the kingdom still sees him as a barbarian. Faerghus might be rebuilding but I’m not praising him for doing what he’s supposed to.” He turned back around, hands on his hips, looking off to an empty corner of the training grounds. “When he actually surprises me… then I’ll have something new to say.”

At a loss for words, Ingrid watched Sylvain rub at the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t know what he’s going to do,” Syvain eventually said. No strength in him to twist his words into a jovial tone. “Felix isn’t wrong. Dimitri’s not doing well. The last time I saw him…”

“He looked like a ghost.” Ingrid offered. Both hands wrapped around her lance while she leaned against it. 

“Yeah. And it’s impossible to get any face time with him as it is.”

Felix scoffed. “See? Nothing’s changed. Don’t bother bringing it up until something does.”

Sylvain opened his mouth but thought better of it. Ingrid looked between them, seeing their bonds strained… but not broken. It was time to move on. She was getting better at gauging that. 

“Let’s head back. I’ll race you two.”

“Huh?”

“A footrace? It’s been awhile. I accept.“

“Seriously, this is my one day off.”

Sylvain’s pleas were ignored as Ingrid adjusted her lance back into the strap over her back and Felix chose their starting line. Unwilling to be left behind, Sylvain lined up to Ingrid’s right. There was an empty spot to her left and Ingrid’s heart clenched at the loss.

When they took off, boots kicking up grit and dust, for a second they were children, shrieking and shouting at one another, life whipping by them in an innocent rush. The air was still crisp and cool when it flooded Ingrid’s lungs, back kept straight even as she caught her breath at the entrance. 

Behind her Felix and Sylvain discussed where to eat, while Ingrid looked up at the sun peeking out through parted clouds. She would send Dimitri a letter to prepare a proper audience with him and take him out to the clouds with her. 

Looking towards the horizon, Ingrid had no way of knowing of the tempest currently brewing in Fhirdiad. 


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The darling scene divider was drawn by Alissa. 
> 
> cw: description of bones breaking and Dimitri's very intense self-loathing.

“Who approved such a thing?!”

“I need no one’s approval,” Dimitri nearly barked from his chair at the head of the table, causing more than half the old men in the room to visibly flinch. 

“Perhaps not approval, but a call for discussion…” Gustave interjected diplomatically, trying to keep the rising tensions in the council room from turning into a furious storm. 

“It’s too late for that, the news is rippling through Fodlan as we speak, ” Nicolai spoke out from his corner, his eyes unreadable when they locked with Dimitri’s. A decade older than Dimitri, the loss of their fathers in the Tragedy of Duscur gave birth to the strained bond between them. “Has your health taken a nosedive, Your Highness? Have you made plans to dig yourself an early grave while the kingdom sleeps?”

Dimitri’s response came to mind a moment too late and the room was swept in chaos, elder knights spitting at Nicolai to mind himself, other advisors from house Blaiddyd assaulting Dimitri with their own follow up questions. There was too much talking, Dimitri felt lost in the gale of their words and the precious well that housed his patience had already dried up. 

His palm slammed down on the tableside, causing it to nearly splinter in two. 

“I am not dying!”

“Apparently,” Nicolai muttered, eyeing the damage left by Dimitri’s strike. Gustave spoke over him, strain catching his voice. “Your Highness, no one wishes for such a thing. Please take the floor before everyone falls victim to their loose tongues.”

“This decision did not come from the state of my body alone. We have all suffered damages from the war.” War had left Faerghus hobbled, slightly better off than a skeleton, but that meant for the first time in five hundred years, there was room to build away from archaic tradition. “Our kingdom has lived in stagnation for centuries, I would argue it was one of the factors in the Alliance splitting away.”

Calling to their fractured histories, words flung out like daggers from around the room.

“You mean for us to reunify with the Alliance?!”

“To cede our holy power to those lawless aristocrats?!”

“Hold! If we are to take back the Alliance --”

“I said no such thing.” Dimitri’s voice boomed out, his temples painfully tight, allowing his headache to get the worst of him. “Do not pester me, I am not a puppet for you to funnel your words through. Take my words as is or have nothing, and get the hell out of my sight.”

An unbearable chill set in through the room. Dimitri was not proud to be the cause of it. He cleared his throat and continued. “Too many of our motherland have been left behind because the men in this room cannot carry them all. For all my family line was large and grand… they failed as well. Our land is not kind, our winters harsh and cruel, but it is where our ancestors settled and so here we are. I do not have to be king to provide for my people. I must be - smarter. Innovative. I must seek other options, other opinions.”

“Your Highness,” Gustave tentatively questioned as worries and doubts were quietly uttered throughout the room. “If you still mean to follow through on your duties as king --”

“My duties remain unchanged. What I am saying is the last king Faerghus shall ever see will be my father.”

“Impossible!”

“What will you have the kingdom do?!”

“The kingdom will speak for itself, my goal is to have the people’s voices heard.”

“And what will you tell the lords of their provinces and territories, that they have become obsolete?” Nicolai called out, a challenge in his voice, his frame, winding up tighter and tighter. 

“If they cannot face the people whose labor has supplied their house for decades, they do not have their best interests in heart. I will not tolerate such a self-serving agenda.”

“By the Goddess, you’re serious!”

“I have been nothing but serious since stepping into this room.” Dimitri shook his head as he stood up. “Nothing I have said today has been anything less than serious. I will not be king. I will abolish my family’s throne. I will seek answers for the new system I wish to put in place.”

“Dimitri,” Nicolai called out again, and the use of his name disarmed Dimitri. Though a flame still burned in Nicolai’s eyes, it had dulled, his anger too, had turned to weariness. “Do you not fear the consequences of your announcement? Not only from Fodlan at large but even the men in this room? We all know your health is compromised.”

Dimitri’s gaze cycled through the room to meet every man’s eye.

“If you think me ready to die I will prove you wrong.”

The meeting progressed not much longer after that. For all their bluster and righteous might… the men’s spirits had been broken in the face of their would-be king’s wishes. Slaves to authority of their own, Dimitri was the last crest bearing member of the royal family. The late regent had sired children… but none of them bore the crest of Blaiddyd. 

The air was thick in the council room and only when he stepped into the hall, was Dimitri able to breathe deeply. Nicolai’s phantom insinuation wormed its way into his ears. Of course he knew the risks that would follow after his announcement, but what did it matter when he had already lived these last years with a target on his back? Dimitri could handle assassins but what was left for him to wrangle...

His family's legacy threatened to swallow him whole most days. His ancestors surrounded him in every inch of the castle, haunting him without body or mind. The weight on his back before he made his announcement was still just as heavy. He was not washing his hands of his kingdom, was not casting it aside like a broken spear shaft. But he also could not bear the thought of surviving war only to find the roots of his kingdom bare and left to rot. 

Lambert had tried, many years ago, to plant new seeds for change. And after it all, the bloodshed and horror, the loss of Duscur’s autonomy and culture - his kingdom remained all the more resistant and defensive, stagnant because it could not suffer another loss (inflicting pain on the surviving men and women of Duscur, inflicting pain on their neighbors, turning that pain inward towards themselves.) 

There was evil in his kingdom - but there was hope too. Dimitri had seen it, in broken down villages and musky darkened alleyways. In medic’s kneeling over bleeding out soldiers. In farmer’s hands dry and cracked from harvesting. In his people who did not deserve to pay for living in a land lacking in abundance. He was giving up his family’s throne but he was not giving up on them. 

“I’m not dying,” he murmured to himself. An oath. There was too much to do. So many ways his kingdom could be better. So many ways they needed to - change. 

He wouldn’t allow his kingdom to stagnate further, he wouldn’t allow it to be as gritty and soiled as - him.

“I will not be king.”

He would break this cycle of famine on his people’s hearts.

Or he’d fall into the same patterns as his father and his father before him. 

His headache pierced his temples and finally, admitting defeat, he allowed his feet to carry him to his room. 

The silence that welcomed Dimitri back to his bedchambers was not comforting. Rather than give him peace, it only served to amplify the cacophony of voices hidden in the muddiest corners of his brain. His intrusive thoughts were no more patient or kind than a nest full of hungry restless fledglings. He dressed down mechanically, setting his cloak over his mannequin, the dummy recently patched back together by his own hand after being thrown across the room during one of his terrors. Unable to see his shoddy workman’s seam as anything but a scar, he tugged his cloak closed to hide it from view. 

Changed into wool bottoms, he avoided his bed, sank down into his seat by the fire instead. All that would soothe him to sleep now were accusations from his own court, paranoia of visitors in the night. Reaching for the only balm available to him, he unfolded his latest letters, paper crinkling in his hands. 

A faint smile played on his lips as he escaped into the steady, chipper penmanship of Annette. The Royal School of Sorcery’s renovations meant Dimitri was due for a visit, and no better tour could be given than from its newest professor. Annette wasted no space, telling Dimitri of textbook revisions and her recent headache of a visit from Linhardt. She spared no questions of her father, as Dimitri had bluntly told Gustave he would not be his middle man. She missed tea with Dimitri, knowing he would not comment on the number of sweets she ate, and signed as she always did, _Be Well, Your Highness._

The greeting cooled him. It was not new, had not been new in decades… but he still felt it, like an old wound that ached when it rained. Only Dedue and Mercedes ever referred to him as Dimitri in post. 

He was quick to shuffle through and find Dedue’s letter, three days old. He hadn’t the mind to reply just yet, preparations for his announcement stealing every waking thought outside of his duties to his Kingdom. Duties, of which included, campaigning and funding a school specifically for Duscur’s children. What Dedue had asked of him, an aid in reviving their culture as he and the rest of Duscur’s survivors continued to rebuild their homeland. 

In this year he’d seen Dedue so little, it was strange, but he knew it was necessary. They’d bonded under traumatic circumstances, became co-dependent. During the war, back in the hollowed out Cathedral, Dedue had come back from the dead and found the strength to separate them and only then could they stand as equals. True friends. 

And only a true friend could know Dimitri so well, effortlessly telling him the words he feared hearing most.

_The time for dreams is now, Dimitri._

He couldn’t respond back then. Rereading Dedue’s letter, which wasn’t about business at all, he found he still couldn’t. Instead he lost himself in the details of Dedue’s garden, his latest bake after recovering one of his mother’s recipes from an old neighbor, a brief anecdote about a gift from Ashe, and all of the other quiet, thoughtful details that made Dedue, Dedue.

Growing drowsy eyed, he idly thought of requesting Dedue press some flowers for him, allowing Dimitri the chance to see the beautiful blooms knowing full well he’d come too late his next visit to witness them himself. 

In the moments before sleep took him, his thoughts spun away from him. Was his dream to improve his Kingdom not enough? What arbitrary rule existed that said his dream could not be the same as his duty? But before he could grow truly agitated, his body took pity on him, and he fell asleep in his chair, fire still crackling warm to his right.

Dimitri stared at the gap in his schedule. After a morning of meetings with several ministries, the break should have been a relief but instead he felt panic. His restless brain itched, and grew further agitated when he saw a meeting scheduled over dinner in the evening. Why did food and business have to be mixed so damned much?!

He stalked through the hall from his office to find his secretarial staff, his furs bulking up his shadow when it blanketed over Alina, who was surrounded by mail and documents waiting to be sorted. She turned towards him unperturbed, glass eye looking off into the room while her brown eye found his. 

“Good noon, your Highness.”

“To you as well, Alina. I received an update to my day’s schedule, has something come up with the financial minister?” 

Alina winced apologetically. “I’m afraid so. The storm that left us last night seems to have hit the eastern province as he was wrapping up business. His travel plans were delayed - but he promises to be here by tonight!”

Dimitri swallowed back his disappointment with a steady nod. “I see.”

“But you certainly have the right idea, enjoy the fresh air, your Highness!”

Dimitri’s brow pinched in confusion, unseen by Alina who turned around suddenly, her bobbed hair whipping across her cheeks. She handed him a weighted envelope and he smiled seeing Ingrid’s handwriting on the front. He would save it for tonight, when he truly needed it.

“I will have the calendar updated by tonight, so please expect it on your desk in the morning.”

“Aye, I will look forward to it.”

After a few parting words, Alina turned back to her desk, quill scribbling as it had before, and Dimitri stepped away. 

He did not recall the short walk back to his office, instead abruptly found himself standing in front of his desk, Ingrid’s letter placed beside his other documents. There were reports to go through regarding a civil skirmish in the North, awaiting his request or dismissal for further investigation. A chart detailing recent crop yieldings. A new law pending rewrites and committee hearings. A never empty stack of funding requests. 

He was no stranger to the work needing to be done, having done it for months now, and knew too from shadowing his uncle, watching his father many years ago. He was learning too, who was trustworthy to watch over the various provinces in Faerghus, so that he might send knights and interoffice dignitaries out in his stead, allowing himself to be easily found. 

But that was the problem, Dimitri realized. 

He was always - here. 

Surrounded by the same walls his ancestor’s voices bounced off of. The courtyard he ran through foolishly barefoot one winter, nearly freezing off his toes. Trapped in a cycle of his own making. Like an appointment to be kept, his head began to ache and his stomach turned sour like curdled milk. His office suddenly felt as spacious as a casket and he spun on his heel, desperate for air, for any passing foothold to climb. 

Practically sailing by the cluster of offices, he belatedly realized Alina was right. He _was_ dressed for the weather, the fresh air and open surroundings becoming a hook he desperately wanted to latch on to. Informing no one, he changed his course, heading out towards the back of the property, right where the stalls for their horses were kept. 

Agafon was getting on in years and Dimitri felt his footsteps slow as he approached the steed. Of all the companions from his youth, Agafon was one of the few whose relationship he hadn’t radically altered or broken with his crimes during the war. He rested a gentle hand on his neck while he spoke. 

“My Agafon, you are looking well. Let us go for a ride around the perimeter, it’s been too long.” 

Adjusting his furs, less the wind whip right through him, he took his seat and they began a gentle trot down a nearby path, well beaten down by both hooves and boots alike. His hunting knife was hidden underneath his furs, just in case, but Dimitri didn’t need it. He knew this path well, every trail in this forest, could make it through blind or in the black pitch of night. Had done so as a child, forgoing sleep for drills, no longer treated like a boy but a soldier. 

_That boy_ , Dimitri thought as he rode deeper into the forest. _I remember the things he did, the places he went, but who was he… The boy before father died…_

Agafon took him deeper into the forest and Dimitri too, slipped deeper into old memories. 

_Another twig snapped under Dimitri’s boot. In the still night the sound was sharp and loud like thunder clapping through the sky. He dropped low to the ground out of a newly developed habit, knowing he was not to be seen until he found his way out of the forest. **‘Always escape unseen from enemy territory, leave no traces behind. There is no guarantee the nature of the man who will catch you, and what he will do. Being a Prince does not mean you will always have a price.’**_

_Perched on his elbows and knees, he listened for the fall of footsteps of patrolling knights, playing their part in the night’s exercises. Enemy patrol while Dimitri was a soldier surrounded, fleeing for his life. Peering into the darkness no longer scared him after being ripped from his bed and deposited in the forest so many nights. At least this time he was able to appropriately dress, the air too chilled and Dimitri too young to endure._

_After moving along the ground, he felt it safe to stand and carefully feel his way out through the forest. He walked, unsure of how long he was taking, growing uneasy when he still didn’t hear any of Glenn or Gustave’s guard nearby._

_Familiar with the dark night he was, he nearly caught his death when Felix appeared in front of him suddenly. Quiet in a way Dimitri could never hope to be._

_Dimitri slapped a hand over his mouth to cut off the cry he couldn’t hold back. He didn’t have to see Felix’s face (and he couldn’t, the finer details hidden by the night’s veil) to know he was exasperated._

_“You know better,” he whispered._

_“Yes, sorry.”_

_“Pft. I’m just grateful you finally learned how to whisper.”_

_“Hey…” Dimitri frowned (sulked) even when Felix took his hand to hold and squeeze. He gave his friend a squeeze back, and they began walking together, fingers laced. Felix murmured for Dimitri to fix his foot falls, and though Dimitri couldn’t become quite as soundless as Felix, he was close. They walked in silence, each keeping guard for the other's blind spot. Felix’s knife guard brushed against Dimitri’s side, prompting Felix to ask Dimitri where his training lance had gone._

_“I broke it.”_

_“Already?”_

_“Ugh… I. Gripped it too tight. It split.” Thank the Goddess he was wearing gloves… but it made Dimitri feel clumsy. Dangerous. Just the other day he held Felix’s hand too tight and Felix had whined. Why was this happening to him? Father explained his crest to him… but it didn’t seem fair._

_‘I don’t want to hurt anyone,’ he thought, unable to say anymore._

_“I still have my knife,” Felix reassured. “I’ll keep us safe if we wake up any wild pigs.”_

_“I have mine too.”_

_“Then we’ll be fine, I think we’re almost done… look, isn’t that the clearing?”_

_Felix pointed ahead to the gap between the trees, faintly illuminated by the moonlight when the clouds overhead finally thinned out. Rather than feel relief, Dimitri’s gut rolled in warning._

_“This feels too easy, Fe.”_

_“Yeah…” Felix stopped walking with Dimitri. “I haven’t seen anybody, have you?”_

_“No…”_

_Felix sighed, flustered. He muttered his brother’s name and a curse word under his breath, causing Dimitri to blush._

_“We could go around through the brush.”_

_“The thickets!” Felix reminded him, shaking off Dimitri’s hand in his agitation. Dimitri tried to let the sting pass, knowing Felix hated being tricked. He peered uselessly into the dark brush, reminding himself the one time he ran through was not worth a second try, left with prickers needing to be pulled from his skin._

_“Then let’s just go,” he said like it was simple. Even knowing he was afraid. More afraid of the unknown as they stood here than of what was waiting for them._

_After a moment’s hesitation, Felix started forward and Dimitri kept his pace, keeping to his left guard while Felix guarded his right. The clearing was empty, no shadows looming at its center, and they stayed in the middle, conscious of the dense forest walls lining around them. Anything could happen, anyone could slip through and just as they crossed halfway through the clearing, Dimitri realized the foot falls he heard were not his own - and whipping around, he found a man in uniform he didn’t recognize._

_**‘Do not falter, Dimitri.’** _

_His knees locked up and then he and Felix were snatched away from one another. He heard Felix shouting, terror masked as anger, and Dimitri squirmed, clumsy and desperate, only to be pinned to the ground with a force so strong he felt his lungs flatten. His head spun with Felix’s struggle in his ears, and the man above him was gruffly telling him to shut his mouth or he’d lose his tongue._

_**‘Your body is a weapon, boy. Make a chain and attack.’** _

_Once drilled until he fell ill, Dimitri’s body moved seemingly on its own, remembering what to do in this position. Taking advantage of the ground and distraction, he hooked his free foot behind the man’s shin, jerking forward to unsteady him. It worked but Dimitri was too slow, caught again on his back, head held down by a large hand. He gripped his wrist in vain, gritting his teeth as he struggled._

_And then it was strange. He heard Felix begin to cry and his own eyes teared up too, his skin grew unbearably hot, as if his blood was boiling, threatening to bubble out and over his skin. With a howl he jostled the man’s arm roughly and heard a sickening crack._

_The man shouted in agony, and suddenly Dimitri was left alone on the cold forest floor._

_Glenn yelled, “Oi, we’re done, we’re done!”_

_Dimitri sat up with a jolt, panting for air while Glenn walked out of the forest with a few other knights. It took him a second too long to realize there was no ambush and his eyes immediately flooded with tears when he realized he hurt one of his father’s aides._

_“He really got you, huh, Percy?”_

_Percival groaned, shaking his head towards the ground. “Just splint me, dammit.”_

_“The king wasn’t kidding about the boy’s strength.”_

_“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean--!” Dimitri nearly wailed, standing on shaky feet, but was rebuffed by some snorts and laughter while Percival’s arm was tended to by their medic._

_“Yes you did! And good efforts, your Highness, but that poor technique will get you killed. You can’t panic like that.”_

_Dimitri felt himself shrink, wanting to hide away into the black night. “But, but I…”_

_The knights merely patted him on the head, disregarding his tears, familiar with them but knowing Dimitri would grow out of them soon. Instead they spoke around him as Dimitri miserably watched the medic splint and cast a healing spell over Percival’s forearm._

_“I’ll let Gustave know in today’s meeting.”_

_“Aye, and I’ll report to the king about the condition of the trails to the southeast, more trees came down during the storm.”_

_“Your Highness.”_

_Glenn called while walking over, Felix by his side. His lip split and mouth pulled in a sullen line. Dimitri rushed to give him a hug and felt his stomach sink when Felix flinched, even as he hugged him back._

_‘Is… is Felix afraid of me?’ Dimitri thought, devastated._

_“It was sloppy but you showed good instincts for your first ambush. You and Felix kept a good guard for the sidelines but your rear is too important to leave continuously exposed for so long. Your eyes have to move as fast as your feet, all right?”_

_“Y-Yes…” Dimitri responded automatically, although without his usual certainty. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. “Glenn, I. I did wrong by Sir Percival.”_

_Glenn shook his head. “There are risks playing the role of an enemy and as far as enemies go, he was a kind one. Right, Felix?”_

_Felix huffed, crossing his arms. “I won’t be surprised next time. Even if it’s you.”_

_“You’d better hope so, if you want to protect Dimitri.”_

_Glenn ruffled Felix’s hair and just like that, the night was over, and they were walking back to their horses. Except, even as the dark sky above them started to lighten into early morning, it was not over for Dimitri. He stared ahead lost and confused, wondering how everyone else could move on so quickly. Wondering what was happening to him, what was… wrong with him._

_At the castle entrance, Glenn walked Dimitri back to his room after sending Felix off with another knight. He didn’t understand why after being left to comb through a forest all by himself he needed an escort but there was no strength left in him to argue, too tired from his drills, from his crying._

_His sleeves were dry and stiff from mopping up his tears and snot and he fiddled with them self-consciously. After ascending the stairs, they were in the hall leading to his bedroom, their family portraits hung on the wall with care._

_Dimitri looked up at his father’s portrait and instead found himself staring at a stranger. There was cold steel where his father’s calm, amiable nature normally rested. He wondered if his father would be disappointed or proud of him, for what happened tonight. The cold hard eyes of a king bore into Dimitri and he held himself tightly, shivering from the phantom chill of it._

_He turned away from the stranger in the portrait, worrying to himself if what was happening to him happened to his father. If he would become the same stranger, treating his body like a cage, keeping his tears locked inside until they dried themselves out._

A thick layer of dust clung to the fabric that covered his family’s portraits, keeping them blind to the world as much as hidden from Dimitri’s sight. Under them lurked Lambert’s face, the last surviving image of his birth mother Eithne, and his own face, soft with baby fat. Even when walking by them, body tired from his long ride, he had no desire to see them. Fearful of the strangers he might see, of being unable to reconcile the boy at his mother’s hip as himself. 

Walking silently back to his chambers to change for his evening appointment, he was still digesting the memories the forest stirred inside of him. His boyhood came to him in more than just flashes these days, a vast improvement from only a few years ago, but what should have been a gift reminded Dimitri of one thing now, over and over: he stood alone.

Towards the war’s end he confronted the reality he could not bargain or use violence for the peace of his lost family’s souls… and could only pray, in the odd hours of the night he couldn’t sleep, that their suffering was extinguished after their bodies were broken and burned. It didn’t always work. It showed in the sickly pallor of his skin. The red in his eyes. The nausea and insomnia that made him temperamental and unseemly.

After throwing off his outer furs, he was reaching for his heavy jacket for formal meetings, when he thought of his hair, windswept and untidy. His jaw clenched when he moved over to his mirror, knowing he had to make himself presentable and fell back on the one nice hairstyle he knew. He pulled his hair back with the brush, no fuss, and kept it together with a golden clasp, leaving his whole face in view. And he knew, agonizingly certain, Dimitri may have been that boy but he’d killed him, burned him away to ash. He could see it in his lone blue eye, no longer bright or shimmering with tears, and he’d extinguished what little light was left in him, hunting down men in the dead of night.

 _Monster._ A thought hissed out, in his left ear. _You’re still a monster. Even your own father abandoned you._ His hand clasped over his mouth in shock when he whimpered suddenly, overwhelmed by how empty the mirror seemed with just his reflection and when he caught himself looking for phantoms he whipped himself away, shaking his head roughly. 

He was alone because he deserved to be. It didn’t matter if it hurt. It didn’t matter if he was - miserable. 

“Stop,” he whispered hoarsely. Desperate for his thoughts to cease their assault. “I have to go. I have things to do.” 

He couldn’t think about how he felt. He couldn’t think about anything beyond what needed to be done. His kingdom was what was most important. Not Dimitri. No, he was a candle without a wick, unable to shine ever again. 

With gritted teeth, he grabbed what materials he needed and fled from his room, desperate to leave behind the thoughts and feelings that plagued him too.


End file.
